


Liberty, Equality, Fraternity... were pipe dreams.

by rl4sb4eva



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M, French Revolution, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rl4sb4eva/pseuds/rl4sb4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hal during the French Revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberty, Equality, Fraternity... were pipe dreams.

"My Lord Harry, it has been too long." She inclines her head barely, curtseying shallowly and holding eye contact. Short hair ruffled and red ribbon tied neatly round her throat.

"My Lady Eliza, such a delight to see you well." He watches her eyes flash black, and doesn't bow in greeting.

He doesn't mention the smudge of ink barely visible under her dresses collar, or the tight fit of her corset making her hiss slightly as it presses on the wound from the stake.

He merely smirks and lets himself be led to the table by a servant dressed in black, and if he grips the handle of the cup of black coffee slightly harder than normal when the seat puts pressure on the knife wound in his lower back then no one notices.

Or at least no one comments.

***

They fuck in a small flat above the bar, the shouts of the revolutionaries from downstairs enough to drown out the vicious shouts she makes when he shoves her against the table hard, fangs sliding out as he bites into her shoulder, ripping aside her undergarments and thrusting in hard. He smiles at the rake of her nails under his shirt, and feels the telltale tickle of a bead of blood smearing down his back, and soaking into his heavy shirt.

The clothes are torn and blood soaked and heavier than he's gotten used to, but he can still moved enough to sink his nails into her bone-enchased waist and thrust deep.

The wool jacket is missing two buttons, and he knows the risks of dressing in military garb, but it's comfortable and it lets him move more fluidly. The harsh bite of the sharp edge of a button on the base of his cock as he thrusts makes him jerk harder, fly barely unbuttoned and trousers still up, belt buckle grazing her thighs with every thrust.

She pushes back, shoving him away and toward a winged chair and down. Smirking as she pulls the ruins of her knickers out of the way and throws them far from her, before taking the arm of the chair in hand and snapping it off with one sharp crack. She pulls the other off as Hal shoulders out of his jacket, letting it falls crumpled to the floor just before she straddles him, sliding back down and biting his neck, his shoulder and back to his neck, ripping open buttons and shredding fabric with sharp, wicked, nails, her fingers going to his chest as soon as skin is revealed and digging in as she lifts herself and bites down again.

***

He licks the liquor from his fingers slowly, and it's sticky by the time he reaches the last one, his eyes never leave the door of the bar ahead. Watching Tricolore draped shapes shuffle in and out, dripping in the colours of blood, innocence and royalty and he smirks. 

He's having far too much fun in Paris, Madam Guillotine still stands in the Place de la Revolution and the smell of blood has seeped into the very scent of Paris, taking away the perfumed excesses and leaving behind despair and death in everything. He'd watched the blade fall and silence the anguished screaming of Robespierre and had witnessed the cheers and screams that had echoed from the crowd.

Now, though, it's not political, it's sport. The roaming gangs are ramping up the terror to delicious proportions and he can't resist joining in. So he's here, outside a known revolutionary haunt and drinking a bottle of god knows what that he'd taken from a wealthy man's wine cellar (he smiles as he remembers the rich taste of wine and fat rich blood that had poured from the man's neck).

He makes sure to finish the bottle, flinging the glass against the door and watching the man next to it flinch as flying glass slashes his face.

He stalks forward, not bothering to disguise himself for what he really is, eyes black and teeth glinting in the dim streetlamps.

He rips the injured mans throat out quickly before he can utter any noise, listening to the gurgling of air through welling blood as he shoves open the doors and strides in, licking his lips and grinning as eyes start to turn, a woman screams and tries to run, but he grabs her arm and feels it crack as he pulls her close, lowering his bloodied lips to her ear and whispering "louder, scream louder" before sinking his teeth into her throat and taking a long slow suck.

He watches the patrons fumble and scream and trample each other trying to get to the back door, and he lets the still bleeding body slump to the floor as he reaches out a whip fast hand to snap the neck of a man advancing with a chair.

He doesn't stop smiling as he lays in, dancing round the room amidst screams and the snap of bones and the rip of skin, feeling the blood soak into his shoes and stain his skin as he feasts and if he's honest just kills.

He's about two thirds through the screaming writhing mass of bodies when he hears the back door open and glances up to see a red dress, short hair and a red ribbon. She holds his gaze as she enters, slicing a throat open with a perfectly filed nail and licking the blood from her finger tips and lips where it had sprayed, before joining him in the carnage.

The distraction she provides however ends when he screams in startled pain and turns sharply, ripping at the body of the man who has stabbed the knife into his back, the hand (still gripping the knife) sails across the room as Hal drains a mouthful and then breaks the still twitching neck cleanly and goes back to splitting his attention between the red clad woman and his prey.

He's not looking at her when he hears the piercing scream she lets out, the young priest at the end of the table leg shocked and screaming "demons" in the few second it takes for Hal to launch himself across the room and rip his head near off.

Her hands are wrapped around the butt of the stake, not high enough to kill, but deep enough to leave a wound that will take a while to heal.

He glances around the room and realises no one is left alive for him to kill, and no one is a threat anymore, so he turns his attention to his companion as she pulls the leg from her chest and drops the blood stained wood to the floor. Pressing a hand to the bloodied tear in her dress and looking up to meet his eyes, smirking.

***

It's fast and frantic and he can feel splinters in his legs, despite the trousers, using his hands to move her on his cock, thrusts deep, hard and fast, their mouths meet, fangs still out and he bites her lips, laps at the blood and bites again.

Hunger sated, full of blood and with nails leaving bloody half moons in her hips he comes, slumping against the back of the chair and sighing loudly, tongue flicking out to catch errant drops of blood from his lips.

She slumps against him, twitching slightly and he slides a heavy hand under the bunched fabric of her skirts and touches her clit, pressing hard and rubbing fast as she goes rigid above him, hands clenching, one on his shoulder ripping into the fabric, and one on the back of the chair and he feels the wood splinter behind his head as she comes again, tightening around his softening cock and moaning her approval into his neck. The sound bubbles slightly with blood.

He moves when he hears the soft crackle from downstairs and smells burning, grabbing his jacket and shoving her off. Before leaping from the building and onto the lower roof of the next door bakery. The fire will spread quickly and he wants to be far away when it does, besides he has a dinner engagement to keep.


End file.
